Crafty Wives and Psychologists
by The-Dragon's-Secret
Summary: Dear Ms. Granger, Thanks for being my psychologist. Malfoy.


**This is for everyone who read my stories, favourited them - that's the English spelling and the squiggly lines are irritating me - alerted them and even reviewed them maybe but probably never got a thank you of their own. In the spirit of Christmas - truthfully, I only wrote it with the intent to procrastinate on my studies - I give you a story that I hope you enjoy reading. I overuse dashes too much entirely.**

**Oh, and thanks to all the new reviews on Closet Slytherin. I will actually reply to your reviews. Eventually. When I stop procrastinating.**

**BETA WANTED.**

**I can't stop writing in present tense. Every time I convert it to past tense, the text loses the flow it had. I apologise for all the rubbish tenses. If anyone wants to beta this, please pm me or leave a review.**

* * *

Hermione neatly prints his name onto the notepad, taking care to make sure she doesn't smudge ink everywhere. She can almost hear her mother saying, 'If only you took that much care in your appearance.' as she looks proudly on her immaculate - as yet - notebook.

She underlines his name and writes neatly underneath, with handwriting that is particularly little-girl like, with each letter precisely the same size and not too big, nor too small.

**Year 1, Day 1**

Hermione values her note-writing skills. Hence a frown flickers on her face when she thinks that someone might misread that as January the 1st. Again, she picks up her pen and writes two words underneath.

**Of**** counselling**

She sits down on her comfy chair, ready to greet her next patient. She beams at her notebook once more, so essential for passing off as a psychologist. Hermione Granger had indeed grown up since her Hogwart years. She shuffles as she realises she had arrived to work too early. She must now cope with a few minutes of silence and boredom.

It's her first day; she's incredibly excited. It has been 3 years since the end of the war, and 6 months since she graduated with a first from Harvard. It's the best course for psychology in the world, she idly remembers. Her parents had always loved telling other people about how smart she was - and that was just the sort of fact they needed to back it up.

She had toyed with the idea of becoming an elf welfare officer, or healer - even a Professor. But she was quite certain nothing suited her better than this. She's still thinking about her life choices when her patient arrives.

A glance at the clock tells her that he has arrived 5 minutes early.

It terrifies her how he looks. His skin is slightly more tanned than it had been, but still as attractive. His hair is the same shade it had been, but a little unkempt and too long to suit the professional and groomed persona he had always had. She can see stubble, and though his rugged look makes her shiver ever so slightly, it does not suit him. He smiles at her, and she almost cries out at how it does not reach his eyes. His eyes are still as grey as before, but they seem to have brightened slightly.

She cannot decide whether she likes it, or not.

She tries to engage him in conversation. He answers her politely, but his body language implies that he finds her bothersome. She thinks he suffers anxiety. It is expected that he suffers anxiety.

He consumes only one coffee. He blows his way through a pack of cigarettes; she checks the packet later and realises it's a company from Muggle London. She writes it down in her notebook, before she forgets. She is very relieved indeed at how much he has matured in that way. She does not like to dwell on why she is so relieved for very long, in case she reaches an unpleasant or shocking outcome.

She begins to scribble down on her notepad; the lines between careful observations and poetry blur as she writes continuously.

**_ His father has just been given his Christmas gift - an ugly kiss, far away from mistletoe; and he too has been gifted with a bouquet of Asphodels._ **

Asphodels are the flowers that represent regret; he hasn't actually been gifted with Asphodels but she likes adding a bit of drama to his life.

"I heard about your father." She says, hoping to spark him into conversation.

"You and the rest of Wizarding England." His voice is bitter when he finally speaks. "Daddy dearest deserved it. You know that." His eyes unconsciously trail to her arm.

She pulls up her sleeve without a moment's hesitation. Mudblood no longer decorates her ivory skin. She resists the urge to grin at the shocked look that is placed on his face.

"Muggle medicine is really incredible, you know. That, and a light glamour charm. It wasn't nearly as bad as everyone thought. It was just a scratch. You know The Daily Prophet exaggerates everything. Damned Skeeter and her minions." She grins at him, and her voice is light-hearted in an attempt to make him feel at ease.

He grins at her; she can't help feeling that he doesn't seem nearly as upset about his father as he should be.

"So, how do you feel about that?" She's back into psychologist mode.

"Relieved. Never much liked the man." He puffs on his cigarette. She frowns at the cigarette with disapproval. His face cracks into a smirk. He continues puffing away.

"Seriously?" She bends forward, conspirationally.

His face becomes solemn as he senses an atmosphere change.

"Yes. He was not my father in any way but the biology of the entire matter. Mother too, I think, feels the same relief." His voice does not seem to show much care for this; he speaks it with a detached tone that worries her. She fears he'll sob any moment and prove himself mentally stable. He smiles at her, as if sensing her worrisome thoughts.

"Do not worry. I have had more than 2 decades to come to terms with it." He rolls his shoulders and lies down.

She watches him, but does not say anything. She tries to focus on her work. Furtive glances in his direction are the only thing that shows anyone watching that she is curious about him. In the distance, a church bell tolls. It is 1 pm.

"Session's over." She says. She stands, clearly expecting him to do the same. He nods, and heads for the door.

She rushes to the door, suddenly feeling like she forgot something.

"Merry Christmas, Malfoy!" She calls after him. He either doesn't hear or doesn't care. He walks on, not showing any impression of having heard. She grins; she's found out more about him in an hour than she had in seven years of schooling.

* * *

She does not see him till their next appointment. Well, she does see him, but she does not talk to him. He seems to get better as the year goes on. He becomes more groomed. He's finally getting used to life without his father, and he's happier. She decides that she likes the new him.

She specifically asks for him to be one of her patients, when the time comes for his yearly appointment. She is unsure why she decides to do that, but she doesn't particularly care. She wants to talk to him.

She doesn't have any problems with using her job to do that. And he's happier now. And, dare she say it, more attractive. She wants to see what the new Draco is like.

* * *

He remembers her as pretty from their first meeting in her office. Days before his father's kiss.

She's even prettier than the last time now. He is kind of thankful that the ministry impose his yearly psychologist appointment - and always give her as his psychologist. He suspects she gets all the 'difficult' patients. She's pretty damn intelligent and knows how to handle _those _kind of people. Not that he'd admit that he thinks that.

She smiles brightly at him as she gestures for him to come in. He unconsciously smiles back.

She pours him a coffee, one that's exactly how he likes it. He figures that she remembers how he took it last time. She doesn't seem in a rush to be psychologist-y.

They end up conversing about non-psychologist-y things. She even talks to him about Quidditch, something he remembers she hates. He spends the session wondering what the hell has happened to him. What the hell has happened to her for that matter?

When the hour is up, she wishes him Merry Christmas, just like she had last year. He wishes her Merry Christmas too. He doesn't turn back to look at her when he leaves the room.

* * *

The third year he sees her, it's one he has been looking forward to. He updates her about his life, and she tells him about hers. They don't have much to tell; they've actually begun to acknowledge each other more out of her office and their appointment times. That, or they stalk each other in the Daily Prophet. Or both.

Her hair is tamer this year and she's just as pretty as she was before. They talk. Not about his problems. He doesn't really have problems any more. He has long since stopped bothering with the people at the crux of his problems.

He doesn't remember what they talk about, but he remembers her laughing a lot. He determines that the conversation was a pleasant one.

This year, he says Merry Christmas first. And he turns back to glimpse at her when he reaches the end of the corridor outside her door. She's sitting on her desk, a pen in her mouth. Her hair is no longer tame; it is flowing everywhere, and she attempts to smooth it back as it falls in front of her eyes a few times.

He laughs.

This year, he thinks he'll give her a Christmas present.

* * *

**December 25th**

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_Thanks for being my psychologist. _

_Malfoy_

A frown makes its way onto Narcissa's face. Malfoys seemed to have a gene that made them smooth and Draco was not at all smooth. Thanks for being my psychologist? It was something a Longbottom would say. There had to be limits with the idiocy Draco could have. She studied the letter a second time, and sighed. His idiocy must be a gene from Lucius. And ending it with Malfoy. And calling her Granger.

It was even worse than the squished note she had found in the trash bin.

_Dear Granger,_

_Merry Christmas._

_Draco_

At least the gift was one the girl would like. Now, if there was only something she could do to fix the letter. Narcissa let a smirk rest on her face. Taking a quill, she settled down to be Cupid.

* * *

The letter almost whacks her in the face. The owl is excitable, and very young. She smiles, takes the gift and gently strokes the owl. She stops to contemplate it.

It's a first edition of Hogwarts, a History.

She glances at the card, and feels satisfaction fill her.

_Hermione,_

_Merry Christmas,_

_Love,_

_Draco._

_xx_

She smiles.

* * *

They do not bother waiting till next Christmas. She meets him at the Ministry's New Year's Party. He makes sure he's standing next to her at midnight. She pretends she does not notice that he had it all planned out.

The matter of the letter with her gift doesn't come up for many years. By then, they're too happy with each other to care what prompted their relationship.

And Narcissa?

Narcissa reprised her role as Cupid for years. It is later, much later that she realises that the Malfoy men were never really smooth. They just made sure to have crafty wives.


End file.
